Puzzle Box
by trentsketch
Summary: To obtain the puzzle box, one must know the pressure of true desire.  The journey would inevitably lead to a small curiosity shop, designed to test one's resolve.  No matter who obtained it, the puzzle box had a strange way of returning to the shop.
1. The Store

This story is inspired by the work of Clive Barker, specifically the characters, properties, and conceits originated in the novella _The Hellbound Heart_. While all the characters and specific situations occuring in the following story are original ideas, the basis of this story comes from Clive Barker. I make no claims to any of his ideas established in _The Hellbound Heart_, the _Hellraiser_ film series, or any further developments in his mythos. 

The outside air was cold with the frost of Autumn, breathing down the neck of hope for the continued warmth of Summer. Inside, the covered stranger welcomed the respite of a small space heater clattering against its metal casing in the curiosity shop. No one would be able to identify him with the low tipped hat, darkened lenses, and high collar. No one would know they walked by him every day on their way to work.

The shop was designed with a single path in mind. Minimalist wooden shelves, stained lacquer black, drew the eye to specific displays from all around the world. Patrons would travel through the narrow passageways dimly lit by metallic reflections of forgotten relics. The walkway varied in size from step to step, forcing guests to contort their forms to the owner's will. But the journey was worth it for those seeking their true desire.

The stranger knew exactly what he wanted. The cheap art pieces and shimmering housewares failed to leave an impression. His focused mind led him to the heart of the curiosity shop: the back wall.

The minimalist shelves and winding pathways were purely distractions. A lost tourist would surely grow tired of the ever changing sights and leave before reaching the wall. Even a casual collector might give up in the face of the cumbersome design and take their money to another area antique store. But not someone seeking far more than a display piece.

The stranger was the first man in years to see the back wall. The owner of the shop rested on a stool, casually thumbing through a week old newspaper. Next to him stood the only item on the back wall. The source of all desire in the world. Atop a tall pedestal sat a small puzzle box. The natural wood grain was obstructed by a black lacquer, adorned by delicate gold patterns of forgotten symbolism and cryptic texts. One glance was all it took to convince the stranger he found his prize.

Without any discussion, the stranger pulled out a signed blank check and held it out for the owner to take.

"Take whatever you want for it," he said. "I can afford whatever you want."

The owner looked up from his newspaper to stare at the stranger. He seemed familiar, but with his face covered, there was no way to know how.

"Just take it."

The stranger reached for the box as the owner tore up the check. With a quick motion, the stranger began to examine the sides of the box with his gloved fingers.

"Not in my store. And not on the street, either. Go back wherever you came from before messing around with that."

The owner showed the stranger out the back door and shut down the shop for the night. He may not have known who desired it, but he was certain of one thing: the puzzle box would be back in his shop soon enough.


	2. The Office

Power. Control. Wealth. Fame. Love. Any and everything he desired, all from the small wooden box in his clasp.

The puzzle box would have to wait for the end of the day. The last day of his life as he knew it. The stranger stashed his treasure in a brown paper bag from the corner market, with his hat and gloves. The prescription lenses could stay for now as they transitioned back to transparency with the shifting light of the office building.

No one would be giving him orders anymore. The cold gray cotton of the plastic cubicle would be his daily cell no longer. The key to the puzzle was on his desktop already, hidden away behind fake files and colorful icons.

He was familiar to everyone in the office. They knew his name, his approximate age, his position. Everything about him that had any worth to the company could be codified on a single spreadsheet. White-male-32-programmer-10.25--the list was finite and exclusive. His dreams and aspirations meant nothing. He was simply another piece that slid perfectly into the appropriate slot of the puzzle of big business. He was not a fine finishing detail. No. Merely a support piece, a ground to build upon. Not refined or significant enough to be treated with any care.


End file.
